


Graven

by Cat_Latin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: slashfest, M/M, McShep Awards Nominee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Latin/pseuds/Cat_Latin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's play "Find The Tattoo."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graven

“Show us your marks,” the Toondii gatekeeper said, and gave the team an encouraging grin.

John did what he always did in situations like this, when he was talking to offworlders and all the words made sense except for the way they were strung together. He looked at Teyla and raised expectant eyebrows. Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Rodney shake his head morosely.

“Here we go,” he muttered.

Teyla looked surprised, which was never a good thing, which always led to Ronon reaching for the knives in his dreads, which always, _always_ led to heartbreak.

Shit.

“I’m familiar with this custom, but I was unaware the Toondii had adopted it,” Teyla said helplessly. “It’s been many generations since the Athosians traded with this world.”

“It is a newer custom, yes,” the gatekeeper admitted. “Nearly a century old. But one cannot enter the Citadel until one’s marks are revealed. It is an expression of mutual trust.”

“Marks,” Ronon said suddenly. “You mean ink.” He pushed his hair aside and showed the gatekeeper the pips on his neck. “Showing your ink. It was a custom on Sateda," Ronon explained, "among the military and their families.”

“Yes, we are familiar with the Satedan custom,” the gatekeeper nodded enthusiastically. “Who will go next?”

“I will,” Teyla said. She gave Ronon her gun, unbuckled her tac vest and handed that off as well. Off came her jacket. When she began to unlace her bodice, the rest of the team casually crowded in for a closer look. Teyla rolled her eyes at them and opened the garment, baring her breasts.

The delicate petals of a rose-like flower overlapped within each brown areola, ending just at the nipple. The flowers were beautifully rendered, in reddish-brown ink just a few shades darker than Teyla’s skin. They reminded John of the intricate henna designs he’d seen on the hands and feet of women when he was in India.

“That must have stung,” Ronon said.

In the crisp air, the roses quickly went from full-blown to bud.

“I knew they’d be spectacular,” Rodney said reverently as Teyla put her breasts away, which earned him another eye roll and a swat upside the head from John.

The gatekeeper’s eyebrows shot up. “That is the first time you have seen your teammate’s mark?”

By this time a crowd had gathered behind the gate of the Citadel to enjoy the show. John noticed that many of them had visible tattoos, including the gatekeeper, who was practically covered in them. Someone called out, “How can we trust them, if they don’t trust one another enough to show their marks?”

“Enough,” The gatekeeper said. “They don't observe our customs. They’ve seen it now, and all will be revealed momentarily.”

“Yeah,” John said distractedly. “I feel closer to you as a team already.”

“Who will be next?”

Rodney nudged John. “Go on, Colonel, you’re just the kind of guy who gets drunk on prom night and gets Yosemite Sam tattooed to his ass.”

“Nope, I missed that rite of passage,” John said, and plastered on a grin while his brain stammered, _holy crap, we’ve been in each other’s pants for months and Rodney hasn’t really seen me naked._

That was furtive, lights-out, supply-closet sex for you. And denial. John felt a twinge of guilt.

The gatekeeper was looking at John with wide eyes. "You mean to say you have no marks?"

"No marks," someone repeated, and the news rippled its way through the crowd, which had grown bigger and louder.

"Fine!" Rodney yelled. "Let's just cut to the chase! The Colonel here and I have _no marks!_ Not a one! So put us in chains, hit us on the head, _spank_ us, throw us in jail, whatever it is you do to infidels like us so we can wait in relative peace for our people to come _rescue_ us!"

"We're not savages!" the gatekeeper yelled back, and the crowd echoed his outrage. "We're not going to punish you for not observing our customs."

"Well, good," John said. He jabbed Rodney, who mumbled an apology and said, "You have no idea how often that happens to us."

John wanted to wrap it up right then and there, but Rodney's scanner made a hopeful sound and then Rodney began to twitch with glee over power readings, of course in the _Citadel,_ where they were not allowed to _go,_ because they didn’t have any goddamn _tattoos._

Something was different, a shift in atmosphere, and John realized that the crowd had gone silent, parting neatly to reveal a few figures climbing the steps to the Citadel's gate. The one in the center was obviously someone important, supported by an attendant on each side.

For a second, John thought, _Wraith_ , because in the dusk all he could see was someone broad and tall, pale as death, with long white hair. But the apparition was a man, with the alabaster skin of an albino, and as he drew near, John could see that he was being guided because he was blind. The sockets of the man's eyes were dark and empty.

Teyla gasped. "Is that --?"

The gatekeeper smiled and nodded his head.

"Norr," Ronon whispered. "I thought he was dead."

"You know of Norr?" Teyla asked, incredulous. "He gave me my marks!"

"Mine too," Ronon said.

"Small galaxy," John added, and didn't even bother to ask how a blind man did tattoos. This was the _Pegasus_ galaxy, after all.

"People of the Toondii," Norr shouted, his voice resonating over the crowd. "Such a poor welcome for these worthy travelers. Might I remind you that your marking custom is a mere three generations old?"

The crowd collectively shuffled its feet, admonished.

"I can quickly amend this situation,” Norr said, addressing John and Rodney. “Permit me to give you each your marks. Then you can enter the Citadel and go freely.”

The crowd cheered, and Teyla and Ronon reacted like John and Rodney had just been handed a ZPM, hell, like they’d just been handed backstage passes to a _Johnny Cash_ concert. Ronon’s face split in the widest grin John had ever seen on him and Teyla, flushed and astonished, gripped his and Rodney’s arms and shook them. “You _must_ accept. You have _no idea_ what an honor this is.”

“With energy readings like this, I’d get Yosemite Sam tattooed to my _forehead,_ ” Rodney said, and after some brief but satisfying trade negotiations, it was decided.

Norr sent an attendant to get the necessary supplies and the crowd poured out of the gate, herding the team to a small building outside of the walls. “This is the birthing temple,” the gatekeeper explained. “Expectant mothers come here when they are ready, and their newborns are given a very small mark, merely a dot, before they cross the threshold of the Citadel. But you have Norr to mark you," he said reverently. "He will draw images from your skins that already lie there, waiting to be seen.”

“Yes, of course,” Rodney huffed, impatient as always. “With sterile needles, yes? You people _have_ heard of an autoclave, right?”

“Relax, McKay,” Ronon said ominously. “Be respectful to Norr. He’s an artist, and he knows what he‘s doing.”

“Teyla’s tattoos are nice,” John whispered to Rodney, “and Ronon’s is cool, in a tribal kind of way, and their body parts haven’t fallen off, so how bad could it be?”

The temple room was small and comfortable, more like a living room, with low cushioned seats and a table on which was laid some hot beverages and snacks. John figured it made sense if it was a birthing room; this might be where the rest of the family would wait. An ornate screen divided the room and John hoped he and Rodney wouldn't be made to lie on a table anywhere near stirrups. Suddenly Norr’s voice came from behind the screen.

“I am ready for the scientist. Doctor McKay?”

“I guess you go first,” John said, giving Rodney a reassuring clap on the back.

“And here I thought we’d flip a coin,” Rodney said grimly, but he began to strip out of his vest and gear. John’s eyes traveled over his bare arms and the smooth length of his neck and wondered where Rodney would receive his mark.

John realized that everyone else had gone. A quick glance out the window revealed Teyla and Ronon outside, chatting with the gatekeeper. The crowd had mostly dispersed.

John made himself comfortable on one of the chairs and poured himself what turned out to be a sweet tea. He’d been to tattoo parlors with friends in the past, to offer moral support, or just for laughs, so he waited to hear the whiny buzz of the tattoo gun and wondered how quickly Rodney’s bitching would begin to annoy Norr.

What John heard instead was a low, almost hypnotic hum. Rodney said, “Huh,” and after a few more minutes, “Wow.” Norr just chuckled, low and knowing, and John might have been a little jealous if Norr didn’t sort of remind him of Slartibartfast from the Hitchhiker’s Guide. The thought made him smile into his cup.

John drank tea and munched on the little cakes the Toondii provided and lost track of time. Then Rodney emerged from behind the screen, looking satisfied.

“It’s not voodoo,” Rodney told him. “Well, it’s Carson’s brand of voodoo, some Ancient device he’ll go nuts over. I think it stimulates Norr’s optic nerve and allows him to interface with a surface, like a person’s skin, and if you say anything about Geordi LaForge and his visor, you will officially be geekier than me. _And_ I will beat you.”

John failed to mention his earlier thoughts on the Hitchhiker’s Guide and said, “Actually, it sounds like a cochlear implant. You know, for deaf people? It bypasses the damaged portions of the ear and directly stimulates the auditory nerve.”

Rodney gave John the look he always gave him when he came up with some random bit of technical knowledge: surprise, awe, and something else John was afraid to identify. John looked over Rodney’s skin, the bits that were exposed, seeing nothing new. He began to form the question, but then Norr’s voice came again, disembodied, from behind the screen.

“The pilot. Colonel Sheppard. I am ready for you.”

John shrugged and said, “Keep an eye on our stuff.” He had already stripped down to his shirt and pants, but hadn’t removed his sidearm. He went to meet Norr behind the screen.

Norr invited him to sit, and took a seat across from him. For a few moments they faced one another silently, and just as John was beginning to fidget, Norr asked him to unbutton his shirt.

The device Norr used was interesting, consisting of a thin metal band worn around his head, and a pen-like instrument used to make the actual mark. It didn’t tickle, but it hurt less than John expected it to.

John's session seemed to go faster than Rodney's. The resulting mark was simple, straightforward, and absolutely perfect. “Thank you,” John said quietly, and Norr squeezed his shoulder and smiled.

Rodney was not in the waiting area, and their gear was gone. The gatekeeper was there to quickly explain. “They’ve gone to the Citadel. We’ve arranged accommodations for you, and your things were brought to those rooms.”

Marks were a cause for celebration, it seemed. Or maybe it was because they were visitors, or maybe for the trade negotiations, who knew? It meant folks were happy and not pointing weapons at them, which was a novelty in John's world. Plus, there was good food and excellent wine. No one had demanded they show their new marks, either. Apparently it was enough that they had been touched by the Master.

John watched Rodney from across the room, drinking and laughing with Norr and some other dignitary and something tremendous and warm opened up in his chest.

Teyla was at John's side, and he leaned in to her and said, "Rodney and I are turning in." He walked over to Rodney without waiting for her reaction, made some inane but pleasant excuse to Norr and his companion, steadfastly ignored the fact that if Norr had eyes, they'd be twinkling, and led Rodney away.

"Are you drunk?" John asked Rodney as he steered him through the crowd.

Rodney was looking all around, as if checking for witnesses. "Um, no? How about you?"

"Stone sober," John replied, and herded Rodney into a handy alcove. He crowded Rodney into a corner and kissed him, cupped his stubbled cheeks in both hands and just tasted, pressing against him full-bodied, and Rodney's arms came up and around him gratifyingly quick and his mouth opened up under John's and it was fantastic.

They parted just enough to allow breathing, foreheads touching, sharing breath back and forth against lips and faces, holding on to each other. John felt dizzy.

"You've never kissed me before," Rodney observed quietly.

"I know," John said, and kissed him again, frantic and starving, until they were both panting and rubbing against each other, hard and warm all over. "I'm sorry."

Rodney looked at him seriously and said, "You don't think there's some kind of alien sex drug in the tattoo ink, do you?"

John was startled, and more than a little hurt. "Fuck, no!"

Rodney stared a John for another moment and seemed to come to a decision. He seized John by his shirt and hustled him down the hall, John hoped, to where they were sleeping.

John was yanked through a door, then shoved against the other side of it with a thump as Rodney attacked his throat with lips and teeth and tongue.

John's shirt had come partly unbuttoned and Rodney pushed it aside to reveal John's tattoo. Rodney ran his fingers over it. "Completely healed, just like mine. Carson's going to have convulsions over this technology. It's weird, though how they're slightly raised from the skin, like they're embossed. Is that normal?"

"Don't know," John managed, more focused on Rodney's hands. Rodney bent his head and mouthed the skin over John's heart and John could only tangle his fingers in Rodney's hair.

Rodney pulled back to study John‘s tattoo, now complete with pinkish teeth marks. "It's kind of like an Air Force pin, only..."

"Deeper," John supplied.

"Yeah. And the colors--"

"Atlantis colors."

"The wings are nice, but there's something about the little empty space between them."

John took a harsh breath and hauled Rodney up against him. "Show me your mark," he said in Rodney's ear, rough and demanding.

Rodney's chin came up, and John waited for the snark, but Rodney just took a few slow steps backward, and damn if he wasn't looking playful.

Rodney dropped down onto the large bed. “Find it.” He smiled up at John, cheeks pink with lust, eyes bright with challenge.

He was sprawled across the mess of pillows and blankets, loose-limbed and relaxed and happy. John wanted to ask who he was and what he had done with Rodney. Instead, he dropped to his knees and began tugging at the laces of Rodney’s boots.

As soon as Rodney was relieved of his boots and socks, John found the tattoo.

Ancient text wrapped itself in fragile, flowing lines around Rodney’s right ankle. It had the same slightly embossed feel as John’s and was also completely healed.

John had picked up some Ancient along the way, but he was still surprised he could read it. “It says, ‘To Question.’ I guess that makes sense for a scientist.”

John realized he was cradling Rodney’s foot in both hands and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Rodney’s mark.

Rodney took a long shaky breath and whispered, “There's more.”

“How many more?”

Rodney smiled, and was silent.

John slid his hands up Rodney’s pants leg, caressing his calf and Rodney’s eyes slid shut. "God, John, I want--"

"Anything," John said, nuzzling his way up Rodney's thigh.

Rodney talked quickly, quietly, barely coherently, "want you on me, want you all over me, _fuck,_ want you in me," as John crawled slowly up the length of his body. Rodney's limbs parted and his knees came up and his arms and legs surrounded John so easily, so willingly, that John felt a rush of heat from his chest to his groin.

Rodney started to say something else and John used the opportunity to lick and bite his way into his mouth until Rodney pulled him off with a hand in his hair and said, "Cold."

"Huh?"

Rodney was panting, practically vibrating with need, but he managed a little smirk, still playful. He said, "You're cold. You won't find any tattoos in there. I'll let you know when you get warmer."

John caressed Rodney's cock, warm and hard and still in his pants, and Rodney hissed and pushed up into John's touch. "Oh, god, yes--no, still cold, I'm so, _ah_ \--very sorry to say."

John slipped his hands under Rodney's shirt.

"Warm."

John thought he might be developing a serious fetish for Rodney's skin. He let his hands travel higher, over Rodney's belly, and Rodney said, "Mmm, warmer."

Rodney's nipples were hard and visible through the thin fabric of his shirt and John couldn't resist diving down to nip at one.

 _"Hot!"_ Rodney shrieked, and John collapsed onto him laughing, until Rodney helped him refocus with two big warm hands on his ass.

John pulled it together enough to sit up and slide Rodney's shirt the rest of the way off. The mark was there, but so was Rodney, and John had to stop and take it all in, throat, shoulders, arms, chest and belly, running his hands along the same path as his eyes.

And the mark was exquisite.

Norr had gone with an idea similar to Teyla's, but only on the right side, and the mark was further away from the nipple.

It was a Stargate in miniature, perfect, except--

"The symbols are different," John said.

"The man is blind. He can't get everything right."

"Mmm, I don't know."

Norr didn't seem the type to make that kind of mistake, but faced with so much of Rodney's skin, John was opting to file that question away for another time. That's when he noticed the illusion, and bent to take a closer look at the mark. "There's writing, around the inside of the ring. More Ancient. It says, 'To Learn.'"

And since he was so close anyway, John latched onto Rodney's skin again, worrying his nipple a bit with his teeth and smoothing it over with his tongue.

"Always--always willing to learn," Rodney choked out.

John helped Rodney out of his pants and boxers and had to take another moment to just look and touch and taste, running his hands over strong, shuddering thighs, mouthing the shaft of his thick cock and lapping at the slickness on the head while Rodney clutched at his shoulders and moaned.

Rodney tugged at John’s shirt until he got the idea. He stood and stripped quickly, then remembered the little bottle in the pocket of his pants. He pulled it out and tossed it onto Rodney’s belly.

“You know, I thought Norr gave me this to keep the tattoo lubed up, but now I’m not so...”

His voice gave out, because his throat had gone completely dry, because Rodney had immediately uncapped the bottle and poured about half of it into his hand. He lifted his leg and began teasing his own ass open with the fingers of one hand, while he slowly stroked his cock with the other.

Rodney looked over at John, eyes at half-mast, he was so far gone. He opened his mouth a couple of times as if he might say something, then just gave up and closed his eyes and fucked himself on his fingers.

John lost no time crawling over Rodney, and it was easy, so easy, with Rodney's hips in his lap and his legs draped over John's shoulders, moving, writhing, insinuating himself onto John's cock until John was in, flush against Rodney's body. Rodney's head was thrown back, both his hands working between his legs, curling around his balls, rubbing himself off frantically.

John wanted to slow him down, but there was no way, and John couldn't take his eyes off him, couldn't keep his own hips still. He got in maybe ten good, thorough strokes before Rodney's body clenched around his cock mercilessly.

Rodney arched and stiffened, keening, joyful, painful, and pelted his own belly and chest with hot little drops of come. It was all over the tattoo, partially obscuring the foreign symbols and the chevrons.

John's mouth was back on Rodney, he couldn't miss any opportunity to taste, licking and biting at sweat, come and unbudgeable ink and Rodney just panted and shuddered through the aftershocks.

"There's one more," Rodney finally managed, and carefully shifted himself free of John. Both of them groaned the loss as their bodies separated.

Rodney looked down at John's erection, dark with blood and slick with the tattoo lube, and slowly rolled, carefully lifting his leg over John, until he was on his stomach. John had to grip himself tight to keep from going off right there.

John rose up and rolled the head of his cock sweetly up and down the hot slippery cleft of Rodney's perfect ass, making himself crazy with it until he was straddled over Rodney, hips pistoning, muscles clenching, fucking his own tight fist, holding Rodney down with his other hand on the back of Rodney's neck, fingers digging in, _there would be marks tomorrow_ , fuck, he could mark Rodney any time he wanted to, and Rodney was moving but he wasn’t struggling, not with the sounds he was making, and John suddenly felt like he was pulling all the heat from the room into his belly, and he shot hard all over Rodney's back, across Norr's mark, covering it, for a moment usurping it.

John sucked in a huge lungful of air and passed his fingers through the warm slick mess across the mark, rubbing it away.

More Ancient text across Rodney's lower back, a ribbon of characters slightly curved, just above the dimples of Rodney's ass. John closed his eyes and bent to read them with his lips and tongue. "To Know," he whispered over Rodney's trembling skin.


End file.
